


Let Dawn Unfold

by Zeyra



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Bilbo Baggins Is Alone, Bilbo is bad with names, Blood and Gore, Bullying, Child Neglect, Depression, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Heavy Angst, Hurt Bilbo Baggins, I'm Sorry, M/M, Misunderstandings, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Touch-Starved, bilbo flinches a lot, homophobia (from the hobbits), the shire is homophobic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2020-09-18 22:07:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20320264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeyra/pseuds/Zeyra
Summary: Bilbo has always been considered odd because of his adventurous side. When his mother dies, she leaves him alone to grow up  amongst uncaring, cruel hobbits.Now aged 50 and about to go on an adventure, Bilbo is terrified of the dwarves of the company, jumping at every touch, and keeping his secrets with the resolve of a dragon defending its gold.The company thinks him strange and unfriendly and pushes him out, while Bilbo slowly realizes that he is desperate for everything he missed while growing up : safety, comfort, and above all : affection.





	1. A hole in the ground, in his chest, in his mind

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, dear readers, to my first ever fanfiction for The Hobbit.
> 
> I decided to write it when I ran out of angsty fics to read in this fandom... Like what ? How can I just, read all of the angst the hobbit fandom has to offer in only two weeks ? This fandom needs more fics, so here I am, adding my stone ^^
> 
> If i manage to finish this one (and it's gonna take a lot of encouragements from you guys !) I will think about adding more stones. I mean, I have so many ideas you wouldn't believe it :D

In a hole in the ground there lived a lonely hobbit.

No guests ever stepped through Bilbo Baggins’ green round door and into his smial. He had no friends, and although he had family, they never seeked his company.

To the hobbits of the Shire, Bilbo Baggins had been a stranger amongst them ever since he was born. The baby had been unusually quiet, with eyes that seemed too smart, not mirthful enough. As he grew up he turned out to be more of a Took than a Baggins, to the great disappointment of most of the community, who blamed it on the mother. Belladonna Took had been the most adventurous hobbit of her generation, after all, and was therefore not a respectable hobbit. 

Her fauntling would run in the forest on his own, imagining adventures and elves, fighting off imaginary dragons and monsters. He would come home, covered in dirt and leaves, smiling apologetically at his mother, who always returned the smile softly.

“You are going to accomplish great things, my little Bilbo.” She always praised.

Every night she would tell him of her adventures, relating her travels, the people she met along the way, her time in Rivendell, the great city of Elves, and her friendship with Lord Elrond, its ruler. She would also tell him of the dwarves and their awful table manners, although they did make the most beautiful jewelry, and Bilbo would listen, his young emerald eyes wide with wonder.

One of those nights, though, Bilbo’s eyes had been filled with sadness and hurt instead.

His mother noticed and she took him on her lap. 

“What’s wrong honey ?” She asked, her voice quiet and soothing.

Bilbo sniffled, prompting Belladonna to run her free hand through his soft curls.

“Am I… Am I different ?” 

Belladonna inhaled deeply. She knew the question would come, one day or another. Her Bilbo was indeed not the most usual fauntling, but how could she convey to him that it was more than alright, when everyone else, even his father, thought the opposite ? 

“Yes, Bilbo, you are different.”

The child sniffled again, lips trembling and fists closing as he resisted the urge to cry.

“B-b-but I don’t wanna be different ! No one wants to play with me anymore, they say I’m odd, they say I… I…” He sobbed as tears finally escaped his eyes. 

The hand combing his hair descended to rub circles on his back. 

“Oh, honey. You are not odd. You are special. And being special is good, so very good. I am so proud of you for being different, my little Bilbo.”

Her comforting words only made the fauntling cry even more.

“B-but Ma, they say I-I’m not even a r-r-r-real hobbit !” Bilbo wailed, curling in on himself. 

Belladonna Took closed her eyes in sorrow. She knew those insults all too well, for she had suffered from them before her beloved little hobbitling. 

“Oh, Bilbo…”

She fell silent as knew not what to say. Even she did not feel like a real hobbit. She did not fit into the definition the Shire had written.  
She rubbed her child’s back and combed his curls as he wet her dress with tears and snot. 

The poor fauntling was still young enough so that his father tolerated him being told of adventures and tales of the sort, but he would soon be a tween and Bungo Baggins would no longer let him fantasize of escaping from the Shire, and start trying to make him into a proper hobbit. After long minutes of sobbing and shaking, Bilbo quieted down. He lifted his head and started absently braiding a lock of Belladonna’s hair.

“Ma ? Can we go on an adventure together ?” The child’s voice was raw from crying, but the tone was hopeful. 

“Well of course honey, I already told you that, just not right now, you’re too young, you know that.” Belladonna smiled as Bilbo’s optimistic face turned into a pout, and poked his nose, making a smile blossom on his face. “But one day, one day we will go explore Middle Earth together, I promise. And you will meet people who will love you for who you are, and not who they want you to be.”

A shadow settled on Bilbo’s face at the last sentence. 

“Does.. Does Da love me for who he wants me to be ?” 

Belladonna resisted the urge to avert her eyes. “No of course not, honey ! Your Da loves you as much as I love you, and let me tell you, I love you a lot ! Twice as much as all the gold in Erebor !”

“What’s Erebor, Ma ?”

“It’s… It’s a very beautiful place. A dwarven kingdom carved into a lonely, majestic mountain. It is so full of gold that 10 lifetimes would not be enough to count it all !”

Stars started shining in her fauntling’s eyes, just as she realized her mistake. 

“Can we go there when I’m older ?”

“...No, we can’t, honey, I’m sorry.”

“Why ?”

“This is a story you are not yet ready to hear, my little Bilbo. It is too sad for your bright little heart.” Belladonna said as she poked her youngling on the nose again.

Bilbo chuckled, pushing her hand away. 

“Tomorrow then ? I’ll be older !”

It made her laugh and she poked him on the nose once more. “No little Bilbo, this is a story for when you will be over 33. Now what about I tell you about the night your father proposed to me ? It was, as hobbit customs want it, a perfect half moon, to represent soulmates...”

She never got to tell the tale of the fall of Erebor.

Five years later, during the winter of Bilbo’s 20th birthday, his mother passed away. It was not a glorious death like she had often claimed she would get, her Took blood taking pride in the thought of dying while she was still wild and young. No, it was a slow, boring death, an usual one for a hobbit. 

She had fell sick alongside half of the Shire. Bilbo had been sick as well, in fact he has fell sick two days before his mother, and his father had been left to take care of Belladonna alone. 

The fauntling was carried to his parents’ bed and put next to his mother. There, through his feverish state, he thought he heard his father talk to someone.

“Why did he …. fall sick too ? Fauntlings his age …..pposed to be strong and healthy. Oh, why did he have to be this way ?”

Was Father talking about him ? 

He sounded disappointed. 

Days passed, foggy and boring. Belladonna was constantly sleeping, and when she was not, it was only a half conscious state in which she talked to people who were not there, people that Bilbo had only heard of in her tales, sometimes calling out to Lord Elrond.

“Ah Elrond, have you…. My son… Bilbo. He is the most...precious hobbit of them all, you… him… adventurous…Invite us sometime..Tauriel…”

It did not make much sense, but it warmed Bilbo’s heart, to know that his mother would talk to her elves friends about him like that. During those episodes, he would grab her hand with his trembling one and caress it weakly. 

When she will be better, he thought, when she will be better, I will ask her again about visiting Rivendell. Maybe I’m old enough now.

Father would come in to feed them and caress his mother’s cheek. Sometimes he would also comb her hair and whisper loving things to her. In the beginning, Bilbo watched with big, too bright eyes, waiting for his turn. But Father would only touch his forehead briefly, sighing at the fever that was not receding. 

“You should be better by now.” He muttered, once. Bilbo had expected to see concern in his father cloudy grey eyes, but they were too dark. Their seemed to be a special kind of bitterness in them, mixed with anger. Resentment. 

It was the night after that that Bilbo got woken up in the middle of the night by a cold, sweaty hand gripping his. 

“My little Bilbo… Honey, wake up. Open your eyes for your Ma.”

A weak, wet cough. The disgusting smell of sickness, and something else, another scent that had been growing stronger and stronger in the past couple of days. A scent that Bilbo feared, although he did not yet have a name for it.

He opened his eyes in the dark room, only lightened by moonlight that was filtering through the window in the ceiling. His mother was awake, and looking at him. 

“Ma ?” He questioned, still sleepy. Was she getting better ? Maybe she wanted him to fetch her a glass of water. 

“Good boy..” She reached with her free hand to arrange some of his curls away from his sweaty face. She was trembling. 

“I love you, Bilbo” Tears filled her eyes and her next sentence came out as a weak sob. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to…” She coughed, and it snapped Bilbo out of the last shreds of sleep clinging to him. His heart missed a beat as he noticed the coldness of her hand. She was not supposed to feel cold, she was not supposed to have this sad look in her eyes, she.. She looked so old, all of a sudden.

The weird scent was overwhelming, filling his lungs as he took in a sharp breath. Something was wrong, so very wrong.

“Ma ?” He asked, tears and panic in his voice.

“Sshhh baby boy… It will be alright…” Another cough. The smell, bilbo could not bear the smell, it made him want to wail. 

“Do not forget little Bilbo… Middle Earth is.. Full of beauties waiting for you to discover them..”

“Yes, Ma, and we’ll discover them together, when I’m older, we’ll…” The words died in the child’s throat when he saw his mother close her eyes in what looked like grief. “Ma ? We’ll explore Middle Earth together, right ?” Silence. “Right, Ma ?”

She opened her eyes, slowly. She was growing weaker every second. She did not have long, and she had too many words, too much love, she could not communicate it all.

“Bilbo, I… I love you, no matter who you are, no matter what you will become, I love you, I love you I love you I love you…” She repeated again and again, her voice falling to a weak whisper as Bilbo begged her to stay awake, to just stay a little longer, to not break her promise.  
“I’m sorry.” She said, or maybe she just thought it, she was too exhausted to know. Black filled her vision slowly, creeping on her young Bilbo’s tear streaked face until all she could see was two panicked emerald eyes, and then, nothing at all.

“Ma ?”

“Ma ?!”

“MAAAA !!!”

Heart wrenching sobs. Wails, then the echo of running steps, and the sound of the door flying open. Screams, someone demanding to know what is going on.

But Bilbo did not care. He clung to the lifeless body of his mother, crying, demanding for her to wake up. Screaming at her that it was unfair, that she promised, she promised they would go on adventures together. Two hands grabbed his shoulders and hurled him backwards and into the wall.

“ENOUGH WITH THIS ADVENTURE NONSENSE ! LET ME SEE YOUR MOTHER !”

Shocked silence, and then a sob, not from the fauntling this time.

\---

Bungo Baggins and his son were not the closests father and son of the Shire. In fact, they were pretty much the opposite. 

When Bilbo was born, Bungo soon found that he was not patient enough to take care of a baby. Belladonna had smiled, had told him that it was alright, not every hobbit was cut out for this, and she had simply worked twice as hard to keep the fauntling fed and warm and happy and clean and everything else a fauntling should be.  
“Don’t you worry, when he’ll grow up you’ll get attached !” Would say his friends and family, but they did not sound convinced, and they themselves did not want anything to do with Bilbo.

They did not even like to spend time with Bungo anymore, he could read it on their face, as clear as day. 

And so reassured, Bungo waited for the little form he so rarely held to grow into a talking and walking little hobbitling.

“Da !”

“Yes, that’s me little one.”

“Da, may I have a hug ?”

“No, I’m busy reading, later.”

The fauntling sniffled. “Ma always puts her book away to hug me.”

Bungo sighed and put his book aside, before opening his arms. His son crawled on his lap and rested his head against his chest, eyes turned towards the fireplace.

It was rare, these moments they shared. Bungo found that he did not really want more.

“Will you tell me a story ?”

“Hum, sure..” Bungo grabbed the book he had put aside, and started reading out loud.

After a while, Bilbo yawned, making Bungo stop.

“What ? Is the story not to your liking, son ?”

The boy blushed. “It’s.. It’s just… It’s not an adventure…”

Bungo huffed. “Well if you want to be told about adventures you should go back to your mother.” He said coldly.

He felt the small thing freeze in his arms. “S-sorry father. I’ll listen to your story now.”

“Well I don’t wanna tell you the story anymore. Go to your mother. Or your room, I don’t really care. I need to be alone.”

The fauntling said nothing more, prefering to hop off his lap and get out of the room quickly.

Belladonna had been very mad at him about his behavior, that day. 

Which is how he found himself in his son’s room once the sun had set, telling the little one a story about a wizard and an elf king doing whatever shameful adventurous things wizards and elves do. It was not because he was reading the words that he had to actually read the words.  
To his relief, Bilbo never asked him to tell him a story again.

“He is still a child, let him dream of adventures !” Had protested Belladonna one day when he had suggested that maybe the other fauntlings did not like their son because of his disgusting penchant for adventures. “Besides, if you find adventures disgusting, please do enlighten me on the reason why you chose me, the most adventurous hobbit of the Shire !”

He had chosen her at a time when he himself found adventures entertaining to hear and read about. And look where that got his reputation. It had already been bad that he married a Took, but now, his child was growing up to be more of a Took than a Baggins, and that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

“I chose you when I was young and stupid !” He spat, not staying in the room long enough to witness his wife’s heart break.

The atmosphere grew tense in Bag End after that. 

Five years passed.

For Belladonna, it was five years of forced smiles and hidden tears

For Bungo, it was five years of continual disappointment, while he pretended that he did not notice the way his wife’s eyes had dimmed. 

And then Belladonna fell sick, and all his love for her came back with the fear of losing her. 

Bilbo was sick as well, and so he installed the fauntling next to his mother. Maybe if Belladonna kept close to her boy, she would remember that she has to live, she has to.

Loud sobs woke him in the middle of the night. Bilbo was crying like Bungo had never heard him cry before. Cold dread gripped his guts as he ran to the main bedroom.

Bilbo was clinging to Belladonna like his life depended on it, his small body shaking with sobs. 

“BILBO ! Get off your mother !”

No response. 

“What is going on !” He demanded, but he already knew, deep down. He simply refused to believe it.

Bilbo refused to reply. Instead, he started begging, Bella to wake up, talking about a promise, and adventures.

Again with those stupid, life ruining adventures. 

The dread and the anger ignited something dark and violent inside of him.

“ENOUGH WITH THIS ADVENTURE NONSENSE ! LET ME SEE YOUR MOTHER !” He screamed as he grabbed his son and threw him backwards. He heard the distinct thump of the boy’s head against the wall, but could not find it in himself to care.

Bella’s face was pale. Lifeless. Her dark curls were stuck to her still sweaty face, and her pink lips were parted. Bungo fell to his knees, reaching out to her. He caressed her cheek with a shaky hand. 

She was already getting cold. 

He had not gotten to say his farewells. She died thinking he did not love her.

He let out a strangled, broken sob.

Years passed. And he knew she would have wanted him to grow closer to Bilbo, to compensate the void she left behind. But he could simply not bring himself to love that boy. It made him feel guilty towards Bella, towards the boy too, but it was still not enough for him to love a son that is so much like his dead love, and so hated by the whole community.

At meals, his son had first tried to talk about Belladonna, sparking his anger. Then he had changed subject, talking about adventures, of all things. Bungo had been so furious, he had thrown his plate at the wall next to Bilbo. The sound of it shattering had not covered his scream.

“YOUR STUPID ADVENTURES ARE WHAT GOT YOUR MOTHER SICK IN THE FIRST PLACE !” 

After that, meals were silent.

He heard whispers that Mister Odulf Hayward was trying to put Bilbo back into the right path, and though that maybe there was a chance for him to grow to like his son, after all.

Not long after he heard those rumors, his son dared disturb him while he was reading.

“Father ?” Something about Bilbo’s voice made him lift his head to look at him. 

“Yes ?”  
“Mister Odulf Hayward, my dance teacher, asked me to ask you if it would be alright if he gave me private lessons.” The tone of the young teen felt wrong, so incredibly wrong, as if he was asking for help but unable to form the right words.

Well, that would be his adventurous side refusing to get forgotten.

“Wondrous ! How patient Mister Hayward must be, to want to spend so much time with you ! I heard he is making you into a proper hobbit.”

Bilbo kept silent. Bungo frowned. The boy seemed far too reticent.

“I hope you are grateful for what he is giving you, boy.” He spat, suddenly angry. He always was when Bilbo was around. “He is giving you the opportunity to finally be normal.”

Bilbo seemed about to cry before he swiftly left the room.

“As weak as a girl, that one.” Bungo muttered to himself.

A month later, Bungo was peacefully taking a walk around Hobbiton when Odulf approached him, adjusting his walking speed to the Baggins’.

“Mister Baggins ! Do you have a minute to talk about your son ?”

“What about him ?” Bungo frowned. News about Bilbo were never good ones. 

“It is about his… Unusual preferences.”

“Believe me, his preferences for… Adventures, have not gotten unnoticed.”

“No no, Mister Baggins, I am not talking about those preferences…”

“Then, what ?” Bungo was growing impatient now. He was having a perfectly good day until Odulf Hayward reminded him that he had a son.

“I am talking about Bilbo’s preferences for hobbits of the same sex, Mister Baggins.” Odulf’s tone was a grave one, and no one in the Shire would joke about things like that.

Those things were usually dealt with privately, as it was a huge shame for a hobbit to be homosexual, or to have a homosexual hobbit in their family. 

Taking his long silence for confusion, Odulf clarified. 

“What am I saying is, Mister Baggins, that your son is a homosexual.”

Bilbo was gay.

Bungo fainted.

That night, he got himself drunk, and called his son.

“Take off your shirt, Bilbo.”

“Fa-father, I would rather not to.”

“TAKE OF YOU FUCKING SHIRT YOU UNGRATEFUL SON !”

Bilbo flinched and took off his shirt immediately. 

He took a stick and approached slowly. 

“Odulf’s lessons aren’t enough” He slurred. “I’m gonna teach you how to behave, you fucking disgrace !”

His son’s screams of pain did not stop him this time. They did not stop him the next times either. Eventually they stopped, turning into weak sobs, then, after a year, Bilbo learned to take the punishment silently.

But Bilbo never stopped being abnormal, and the Shire could not blame Belladonna any longer, so they blamed Bungo, and one by one, he lost his friends. 

Gandalf visited once when Bilbo was going to turn 32, and it was only the second time he saw Bilbo, but he asked to bring the boy on a walk. 

Bungo had been forced to accept, no one sane would refuse anything to a Wizard, after all. 

That night was the first night he drew blood on Bilbo’s back. 

One night the winter that followed only two month later, the boy decided to rebel for the first time. 

Bungo was lecturing him about his abnormalness during dinner when the teen muttered something under his breath. He was almost shaking with tension, his clenched fists resting politely on the table nonetheless. 

“What is that, boy ?”

“I said : I am sick of you all.”

“Pardon me ?”

“I AM SICK OF YOU, SICK OF MISTER ODULF, SICK EVERYONE ! When I will be of age, I will leave the Shire, never to return again !”  
“BOY ! CALM DOWN THIS INSTANT ! I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS !”

Bilbo’s jaw clenched shut, but he kept glaring at Bungo. His eyes had a dangerous glint inside of them, like something dark and painful was burning there. 

He attempted to stare his son down, but the teen would not budge. 

“Take off your shirt.” He demanded, voice cold with fury. “On your knees.”

Still, Bilbo did not move an inch.

“NOW !”

“No.”

“Boy, if you think this act of rebellion will lead you anywhere, you are even stupider than I thought.” He spat, standing up.

“I hate you.” Bilbo growled lowly, but his eyes did not show anger, they held pain.

Bungo noticed, and smirked. “Well if you hate me so much, why not leave now ? It would be a relief for the whole Shire.”

He expected his son to melt down, to ask for forgiveness like the weak thing he is.

Instead, he could only watch as the boy ran from the smial with nothing but his night clothes on his back.

“BOY !” 

His call went ignored.

An hour passed.

Then two.

Then four, and the sun had completely sunk below the horizon.

Five, and it started snowing again, heavy snowflakes covering the already white ground.

The stupid fauntling would die if he stayed outside in this weather. Especially in those clothes.

“I don’t care. I want to get rid of him anyway.” He muttered, trying to convince himself not to help.

Half an hour more.

“Maybe he went to Odulf.” Bungo thought aloud again. Hearing his own voice in the empty room comforted him. “I should not let Odulf handle him alone. The poor man does so much for him already.”

He put on two of his warmest coats, as well as his thickest boots, and out he went, to Mister Odulf’s smial. 

It was a ten minutes walk, and Bilbo must have ran, so the little disgrace probable did not even have the time to get cold. As it was, Bungo was already shivering despite his two coats. Hobbit really were not creatures made to support such low temperatures. 

When Odulf opened the door, he looked half asleep, which made a strange feeling creep inside Bungo’s chest.

He was worried.

Worried that his son was alone, out there, in clothes that really were not fit to survive a winter night in the Shire. 

“Where is he ?!” He demanded, even though he knew Odulf had no idea.

“Who ? Are you alright Bungo ?”

“Bilbo ! Bilbo ran away and he is only in his night clothes !”

“What ? And you let him go outside ?” 

Bungo buried his face in his hands and gritted his teeth. “I had no idea he would be stupid enough to do that. Oh Odulf, I don’t want to have the death of a child on my hands, the Thain will never let it go, no matter how much everyone wants to get rid of Bilbo !!”

A soothing hand landed on his shoulder, and Bungo leaned into the touch. No one ever comforted him anymore. His entire life was as cold as the ground beneath his feet.

“I’ll help you find him, just let me get my coat. I think I know where he went anyway, but you will not be able to find the place on your own.”

Ten minutes later, they were walking into the woods of the Shire, holding a lantern between the two of them to be able to see where they stepped.

“He built a tree house not far from here a few years ago when the Sackville-Baggins kids began bothering him too much. Although he started it, if you ask me.”

Bungo hummed. He did not care. All he wanted was to avoid being called a child murderer.

And maybe, just maybe, he slightly cared about the fauntling with soft blonde curls that had the power to bring a smile to his Bella, the one with bright emerald eyes that his family still loved, that the community did not judge guilty of oddness yet. 

“Bilbo !” He called. “Come home now !”

“BILBO !” Odulf yelled. “YOU WILL DIE IF YOU STAY OUT TONIGHT !”

Wolves howled in the distance. 

“This is not reassuring Bungo, maybe we ought to go home and see if Bilbo has the common sense to find somewhere warm at least.”

“No, we need to find him. I will not be called a child murderer !”

They kept walking silently for a few minutes, only calling Bilbo from time to time.

When they arrived in a clearing, Odulf stopped.

“I.. I could have sworn it was there, Bungo.”

Wolves made themselves heard again, but they were closer this time. Much closer. Bungo looked around him warily, and he thought he saw glinting pairs of eyes surrounding them in the darkness.

“Odulf, maybe we should move on from here and search somewhere else.”

“Yes. I think his tree house is a bit more to the east, it’s hard to recognize the way in the dark.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bungo saw a shadow move. At first he thought it was a wolf, but it was humanoid and it was running away from them.

“BILBO !” He cried as he started running. Behind him, multiple growls came from the shadows. 

“The wolves are after us !” Shrieked Odulf as he ran next to him, then ahead of him.

Bungo cursed mentally. He had never been fast, even for a hobbit.

Teeth slammed shut somewhere near his ankle, and he felt the hot breath of the beast to which they belonged. 

The pure terror made him run faster. He could no longer see the silhouette of his son, but he was sure that it was him he had seen.

“BILBO !” He screamed. But screaming made him waste his precious, shortening breath, and he coughed. The lantern he was still holding fell and he heard a yelp behind him.

He turned to see if the wolf had fallen, but was met with two horrible, glinting eyes. Before he could register what was happening, the wolf jumped on his leg. He felt his bone getting crushed by the predator’s strong jaw and he went to the ground, shrieking. Then it was a blur. He called for Odulf, for Bilbo, but none answered, and more wolves arrived. One of them bit his throat and Bungo heard his own screams die in his throat, as he drowned in his blood. 

He looked up to the sky. The trees were moving, blurring everything. There were ever growing black stains obstructing his vision, but he could still see the moon and it was, ironically enough, perfectly half full.

Bella.

Flashes of that night he had proposed to her came to his delirious, dying mind. He remembered the green of the grass, the freshness of the summer night air, the love and innocence in her smile, in her eyes.

‘I love you’ he thought desperately through the gore and the pain as his world dimmed, and then stopped.

\---

The news traveled around the Shire quickly.

Bungo and Odulf were dead.

Killed by wolves.

They had crossed the frozen river, some explained.

What about Bungo’s son, Bilbo isn’t it ? A neighbor said she heard them calling for him as they entered the forest. Others asked, eyes wide. What if the boy finally snapped and decided to get rid of them ? Some of those added. He has always been odd, after all.

No don’t say that, the poor thing is all alone now ! Protested a few, but they did not sound convinced by their pwn concern.

The Thain was called.

Bilbo was declared innocent, to the utter dismay of the community of the Shire.

He inherited Bag-End, and from then on, having no one left in the whole world, the young hobbit lived alone. 

\---

In a hole in the ground, there lived a lonely hobbit.

No guests ever stepped through Bilbo Baggins’ green round door and into his smial. He had no friends, and although he had family, they never seeked his company.

To the hobbits of the Shire, Bilbo Baggins was a murderer.

To Bilbo Baggins, Bilbo Baggins was worthless, odd. A nuisance. A disgrace. 

The morning of his 33rd birthday, Bilbo woke up from a dream about his mother. They had been painting together a huge, lonely mountain, while she told him tales of a wandering dwarf king who had lost everything.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat and went on about his day, pretending it was a normal one. He knew that he would feel better if he cried, if he let himself be weak just for a little while, but he could not bring himself to, not when the fear of crying had been beaten into him by his father.

Fear.

It was one of the few things he could feel. Pain, fear, guilt, self hatred, numbness. 

He did not count the times when he was so captivated by a book that he forgot who he was and started actually imagining himself being one of the characters living a glorious adventure. It was shameful. He was not a child anymore.

He did not count those times when he imagined himself as someone else, receiving a love the real him did not deserve, because those were not real emotions those were fantasies.

His favorite feeling was feeling nothing at all. It was the only moments of peace in his life. 

He could not count the feelings his fantasies brought to him as peaceful, for they always called for a storm of self loathing and fear.

Some days he would feel his father’s presence, as if he was watching him, ready to jump on him and scream at him about the abnormality that he is. These days he usually spent curled up in his bedroom closet, fighting off the tears and hyperventilating, although he knew that logically, there was nothing at all. 

He was mad. He had gone mad.

There was no way his father had survived the wolves.

Still at night, he could hear imaginary noises and steps, growls and howls, and he would try so very hard not to scream, but he was too weak, too terrified. 

A year went by, and snow came again.

Bilbo was watching the snowfall outside the window, face blank.

He barely ate, but he still had to restock his pantry at least once a month, or every two months if he had a particularly bad few weeks.

So weak.

And now he had to go to the market, while it was snowing and the ground was probably just as freezing as it had been when Odulf had… 

No. He was not going to think about that now, there was no use thinking about that now, no use remembering the feeling of helplessness, the panic.

The blood.

NO.

He had to get food, and that also meant that he had to stop being so damn weak. The past could not hurt him.

Except, it was hurting him. There was no denying it. 

Although, Bilbo was stubborn, and if he had decided that the past was not able to hurt him, then it was not hurting him, the illogical fears were just a result of his madness.

Mad Baggins, he killed his father and poor Odulf. They say.

They are right.

The guilt was agonizing, though, so maybe he was not completely mad yet.

Bilbo put on his boots, put on his coat, and then a second. And then a third, this one with a hood big enough so that he could cover half his face with it.

It did not matter, everyone would recognize him anyway, but at least it would give him some privacy if someone said something that caused him to break.

He stepped outside, and instantly the cold air stung his exposed skin.

He flinched when he heard howls in the distance, but they turned into the sound of children playing, so he mentally slapped himself.

The travel to the market and back proved to be surprisingly peaceful. Maybe it was because Bilbo kept himself busy by making up a story, or maybe it was because no one dared talk to him, but he just had to quietly ask for ‘the usual’ and give his money to the merchants, and he was off. 

Yavanna, he hated the snow, though. 

The next years, he stocked his pantry enough to last the whole winter. The other hobbits never asked him why, but he knew they would talk. They would probably say he was turning into a beast of some sort.

Beast.

Glinting eyes turning on him, teeth bared, then getting distracted by a lantern light in the distance.

No.

Almost twenty years passed that way.

Twenty lonely birthdays, and as many winters spent shivering and screaming in the night, needing comfort and reassurance that would never, ever come. 

The hate of his neighbors increased, they got bolder every year, starting to see him less like a menace and more like the weak, pathetic, unlovable thing he truly was. Now they would insult him when he passed by on his way to the market. The fauntlings would throw rotten fruits. Boys would make kissing sounds at him while the others pretended they were throwing up. Merchants would ask him to pay almost twice the price.

He turned 50, and decided to exceptionally sit outside, on the bench where he sat everyday with his mother when she read him stories. 

Here it was, half a century of a life he could not be wasting more. He took out his pipe, stuffed it, and lit it. What a waste of such a good pipe-weed. Someone else would actually enjoy it instead of staying apathetic. 

No one wanted him here. No one had ever wanted him anywhere except his mother when she was still alive. 

She was dead now, though. 

Maybe Bilbo should follow after her.  
He closed his eyes, not sure if he was mourning or trying to enjoy the sunlight.

After only a few seconds, something obstructed the sun. 

The hobbit opened his eyes, only to find himself looking at a huge man with a pointy hat. Everything about his was grey, from his clothes to his eyes, without of course, forgetting the hat. And that man was staring at him with eyes that seemed to pierce through his very soul.

“Good morning,” He greeted, not sure if this was the sign that he had finally totally gone mad or not. Or maybe the suicidal thoughts from just a minute ago were the sign he was looking for.

The tall man hummed.

"Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?"

Bilbo stayed speechless for a few seconds. It had been two decades since he had had a real conversation with someone, and now this man engaged one with him, and he was thrilled to finally talk to someone other than himself, really, but… He had forgotten how.

“All… All of them at once, I suppose.” He tried hesitantly.

The man hummed again, still staring at him like he could see beyond his eyes.

Bilbo grew uncomfortable. 

“Can I help you ?”

He did not want to help him. He wanted him to leave him alone.

“That remains to be seen.”

And why was he talking like that ? Did everyone talk like that outside of the Shire ?

“I am looking for someone to share in an adventure.”

Bilbo’s heart skipped a beat.

“A-an… An adventure.”

“Yes.”

The hobbit grimaced as pain shot through his back. He knew that pain all too well, it was the ghost of a pain that had faded a long time ago, but he remembered it each time there was a mention of what caused it, like some sort of curse Bungo had put on him.  
He stood up and swiftly made his way to his door. He stopped at the doorstep and turned back to the man. 

“Good morning.” He stated, this time conveying a very clear meaning : I am not interested, leave and never come back.

He was turning again, about to step inside the safety of his smial, away from this strange grey man, away from adventures, away from the pain torturing his old scars, when the stranger spoke again, his angry tone making Bilbo flinch and cover his head. For a second he was sure that a plate would come flying at his head. Then the man stopped talking and Bilbo’s brain slowly processed what he had heard.

“To think I should have lived to be bid good morning by Belladonna Took’s son ! As if I was selling buttons at the door !”

His heart skipped a beat again.

Belladonna.

Ma. 

This man knew her.

“B-beg your pardon ?” He heard himself ask.

“You’ve changed, and not entirely for the better Bilbo Baggins.”

Well that was new. Bungo would have been pleased at him refusing to go on an adventure. Actually, everyone but his mother would have been pleased. 

Then it occurred to him that this man was not supposed to know his name.

“I-I’m sorry, do I know you ?” 

“Well you know my name, although you don’t remember that I belong to it. I’m Gandalf !”

Gandalf.. Gandalf…

“... And Gandalf means.. Me.”

Fireworks. Hugs. Huge grey robes, pointy hat, colors in the sky. A tale Bilbo had never heard before as he was falling asleep in the arms of the giant.

Gandalf. Gandalf the wizard. Ma’s friend from her adventures. 

Gandalf was staring at him with disappointment in his eyes. Bilbo could not be mistaken, he knew how to spot disappointment in someone’s eyes better than anything else. Bungo’s had been full of it, after all.

So the wizard was disappointed in him.

A painful lump formed in his throat and he closed his eyes briefly. That was not supposed sting so fiercely, but then again, he guessed it was normal. He had always thought that his mother would stay proud of him, love him no matter what, but here was her friend, someone who had to share a lot of views with his mother, and the wizard was disappointed.

Bilbo suddenly grew aware of the silence that was stretching for too long.

“Uh.. Yes, I remember. Gandalf the wandering wizard, with the fireworks. Great fireworks by the way, quite impressing really.”

Gandalf’s eyes changed to something Bilbo could not quite read, but it looked very close to sadness. He looked around him at the garden that Bilbo had long since forgotten to maintain. The green paint on the door was old and almost gone. The windows were dirty.

“You look awfully lonely, my dear Bilbo.” He said, and it surprisingly did not sound like an insult. 

Then his gaze returned to the hobbit hovering at the door.

Bilbo wanted Gandalf to leave him alone, to leave him alone right now or he might cry. 

“This will be good for you.” He stated, determined. 

Except Bilbo knew that tone, for he used it very often. That was the tone of someone who was trying to convince themselves.

“Let it be clear, Gandalf, that there will be no adventure wanted here, not today, not tomorrow, not ever ! Adventures are filthy things that destroy your reputation and make you make the wrong life choices ! I will not take part in any of this as long as I am alive !” He paused, breathless and not entirely sure of what exact words he had just said. “Good morning.” He said once again, before rushing inside his smial and closing the door behind him, locking it.

Not a second after he had secured the lock, he heard a strange sound coming from the bottom of his door.

Terrified, he put all his weight against the gate, hoping it would hold, but then the humming stopped and the door remained closed.

Bilbo waited a dozen of seconds longer before risked a glance at his window, only to see the wizard’s retreating back.  
Yeah, he had probably gone mad. 

He went to the living room and sat on the old armchair, trying to figure out what to do now.

He knew for sure that if he was mad, he was at risk of hurting people. And he did not want to hurt people, no matter how much they hurt him, no matter how much he hated them.

Which brought back to his thoughts from earlier.

Suicide seemed to be a quite good option really. The Shire would get rid of him, and Bilbo would get rid of Bilbo.

If death was like the nothingness he imagined, then it would feel a thousand times sweeter than all of the night terrors and the horrifying, crushing feeling of loneliness.

And so he took his decision : he would die tonight.

He spent the rest of the day preparing. He first wrote his will, as it was what he thought would take him the longest time, but actually, what took the most time was choosing how to die.

Poison ? He knew he had some somewhere. A noose ? A fire ? that would hurt. But then again, he deserve to suffer after what he had done to his parents. He was the cause of both of their deaths. A murderer. How do murderers get executed ? Bilbo did not know. They never have murderers in the Shire. 

He could also open his wrists with a kitchen knife. Or try to drown himself in the bath. That would require some ingenierie but Bilbo had built a tree house all by himself once- No. He was not thinking about that today, not ever again.

Sun was already starting to set and he still hesitated between bleeding out and drowning. He had decided that the fire would be endangering the neighbors, and he could not find the poison. 

He decided that while he tried to pick between blood and water, he would prepare his last meal.

He did not care at all about the menu, because everything was tasteless to him, had been for decades, ever since his mother died.

That is how he found himself gazing thoughtfully at his fish and veggies. He had subconsciously made what his mother always cooked him when he was sick.

And still he could not choose between the two potential deaths. Because he found that he did not actually know what he prefered : painless and slow, or painful and quick, or maybe slow and numb ? He did not even know how it felt, and no one in the Shire would be able to tell him anyway. Maybe drowning what absolutely agonizing. Maybe bleeding out was like falling asleep. Or maybe it was the opposite.

He groaned. Even dying proved to be a hard task for him. He truly was disappointing.

That is when he heard a knock on the door.

An hallucination, again ? Bilbo really had to hurry before his madness took it to the next step, whatever that next step was.

It was probably violence, though.

He stood up and went to open the door anyway. Who knew, maybe one of his neighbors had decided to come by and say hello for the first time in his life.

Behind the door stood a giant, half bald dwarf. 

“Dwalin, at your service.” He said as he placed a hand on his chest and bowed slightly.

Now, that, that was… A weird hallucination. Very odd, even for Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna Took.

So what… What if this was real ? What if a wizard had shown up at his doorstep, ignored his refusal to go on an adventure, and invited a dwarf (a dwarf !) into his smial ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think ? Was the writing okay ? Was the chapter too long ? I really wanted to stop it at Dwalin entering Bilbo's smial but I think it's still so very long and I hope I did not lose anyone midway ^^'
> 
> It's currently 5 am and before I started writing tonight I only had 9/22 pages of this chapter written. Some call this insanity, I call this spontaneous productivity :D


	2. A Tortured man will flinch while hoping to die.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo deals with dwarves in his smial. Dwarves who want him to steal from a dragon, but also think him too weak and too small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers !
> 
> I bet you thought i had forgotten you... Well, surprise ! I have not :D I never have, actually. It just took a really long time for me to well, both find time and words for this chapter. I rewrote it, and then rewrote it again, and then deleted one part, and added two others... yeah it was a mess. But in the end, there you have it ! A new, shiny chapter for this story that everyone probably gave up upon months ago ! Yay !...
> 
> No but truly, I hope you guys are still here. I love you. I love hearing from my regular readers. I love seeing people following me and coming back to stories even if it takes months for me to update them. Please don't give up on me, pals.
> 
> Also, on a side note : I am stuck in my small appartment in Paris for at least a month because of covid19, so you may expect more frequent updates from me, yay !
> 
> Enjoy the chapter !

“E-Excuse me, a-a-are you real ?” He blurted out.

Dwalin frowned and stepped inside, staring at him with dark eyes, studying him like he was the oddest thing he had ever seen. 

Then he took off his coat and brusquely gave it to him, accidentally punching him in the process. Or maybe it was not an accident. How could Bilbo know ?

“Well of course I’m real ! Now where’s it, laddie ?” He gruffed as he made his way further into the smial.

The pain of the punch was far too real for it all to not be just that.

Oh no. 

Absently, he replied to the dwarf. “The what ?”

Oh no oh no oh no. 

“The food ! He said there’d be food, and lots of it !”

Father was going to be so mad, so furious with him…

“He-he said ?” 

Bilbo would not be able to sleep on his back for weeks, no, months !

He saw himself follow the dwarf into the kitchen. Dwalin had found his untouched plate and had dug into it eagerly. 

At this moment, Bilbo could have told the dwarf to leave. 

Dwalin grabbed the fish and bit off half of it, producing a crunching sound that made the hobbit feel sick. 

He could have done so indeed, had he not been so scared.

This dwarf looked like he could crush Bilbo’s skull one-handed. 

There was a knock on the door again.

Oh no.

“That’d be the door.”

Behind it stood a dwarf with white hair and beard, who was way smaller than the first one, but still taller than Bilbo. He wore a gentle, wise expression. 

“Balin, at your service.” He greeted, and Bilbo forced himself to return the gesture.

He felt so small. He wanted to run and hide in his bedroom until it was all over. But he could not do that, could he ? 

The dwarf in front of him must have said something, because he was looking at him expectantly. He panicked and tried to replay whatever Balin had said.

“Brother !”

Bilbo flinched, startled by the sudden call from the kitchen. Before he had time to register it, Balin had left for the kitchen and was bumping foreheads rather violently with his brother.

The hobbit did not believe himself able to invent such weird looking characters. If he was hallucinating, he would logically be seeing elves, as they were his favorites. 

And Dwalin was most certainly not an elf. Neither was… What had been his name ? Dalin ? Balin ?

So… So this was real.

“Okay.” He said out loud, eyes wide, breath short. “Okay.”

He watched as the two dwarves left the kitchen as they conversed, and followed them to the pantry as they started going through his food, smelling it, putting their hands all over it, taking it.

His father would be so mad. Bilbo felt his back ache with ghost pains, and grimaced. He needed to stop these two strangers, no matter how scary they looked. 

“Excuse me…?” He called, but his voice was too small, and they did not even glance at him.

He coughed, trying to get their attention. It worked, surprisingly. They stopped their conversation and stared at him, silently demanding him to speak.

“Sorry, but-” 

“Apologies accepted.” Cut Balin, and they went back to the food. 

Bilbo’s heart dropped in his chest again, this time in a slower, more powerless manner. What could he do now ? This was out of control, he could not make them leave, he was certainly not about to raise his voice, who knew what kind of death awaited him if he did that. 

The best was probably to simply endure all of this until it was over, then pretend it was just another nightmare, and blame the pipe-weed. 

Someone knocked on the door again, forcing Bilbo to come open it. Behind it, there were not one but two dwarves this time. These ones looked rather young and their eyes had a malicious sparkle inside of them. Surprisingly enough, one of them was blond, which was rare amongst dwarves, and the other did not even have a beard, which was even rarer. 

“Fili” Said the one who had blond hair. 

“And Kili” Continued the beardless one. 

“At your service !” They finished in chorus before bowing, their smiles showing how proud they were of themselves for having such perfect synchronisation. 

They went through the door, grinning as they tracked mud everywhere.

The panic-induced adrenaline made Bilbo feel lightheaded. He felt like the next person to come into the smial would be his father, stick in hand and face twisted by fury. 

He saw himself extend his arms at something the blond one must have said. Or maybe it was the other one who said something. Either way, he was soon unable to see through the heavy pile of weapons that had been placed into his arms. He stumbled to the nearest cabinet and put the weapons there, as cautiously as he could. 

“Woah, careful there, lad !” Called one of the two, making Bilbo jump and almost dropped the remaining daggers in his hands. 

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly. He couldn’t help but feel his shoulders tense up. Was he going to be hit for his mistake ? 

A large hand hit him right in the middle of his back, making him freeze. Yes, yes he was. 

“It’s okay, mister Boggins ! We’re just teasing, they won’t break so easily !”

By the time Bilbo was able to breathe again, the two dwarves had left his side and were greeting the others. The hobbit licked the lip he had been biting, and tasted blood. 

Stupid. Stupid hobbit. 

What was he going to do now ? There were dwarves in his home, spreading chaos everywhere, eating his food, tracking mud on the floor, but, most importantly, those dwarves were getting in the way of his perfectly planned suicide !  
Bilbo licked his bloody lip and sighed. Okay, not perfectly planned. He still had to choose how he wanted to draw his final breath. 

Speaking of plans, he needed one to drive those… Quite unexpected guests out of his home. But not tonight, no, not tonight, because that would make Bilbo a bad host, and he refused to let his father down like that. (He refused to risk his father coming back from the dead to hit him until he was bloody and motionless.) Not one Baggins had been called such a tremendously horrible thing before, so there was no way Bilbo would let it happen now.

Maybe if Bilbo just gave them everything they asked for, they would leave, hopefully without harming anything or anyone. He caressed the upper limb of the bow he was holding, admiring the craftsmanship. How many people had this weapon killed ? 

“Mister Boggins ? What are you doing staring at my bow like that ? Do you li-”

Bilbo startled and struggled not to drop the bow. 

The dwarf that had pulled him from his thoughts was interrupted as there was, yet again, a knock on the door. 

The hobbit walked to the door and put his hand on the knob, once again completely disconnected from the situation.   
That is how, when he found himself in front of a massive group of dwarves threatening to fall on him, he did not use the half second he had to react to flee, but instead, wasted it staring, and thinking ‘oh. Well, this is going to hurt’. 

Now underneath a big pile of dwarves and hurting everywhere, Bilbo felt the urge to grin, because, really, what an odd but entertaining evening ! Terrifying and painful, yes, but what wasn’t, these days ? ‘What a mad thing to think’, he scolded himself as he fought the smile by focusing on the pain. 

A second later, though, hands touched him, grabbing his body, and pulled him up. 

“’m so sorry laddie, I didn’t mean t’harm you, I swear !”

Instead of smiling and thanking the dwarf that had helped him and was now checking that he was okay, Bilbo focused his eyes on his feet. His lips, still bloody from earlier and no longer tugging at the small wound to form a smile, trembled. 

‘Let go of me’ he wanted to demand as he felt big, rough hands touching his back and his sides. 

‘Don’t hurt me’ he wanted to beg as the hands eventually gripped his shoulders, and stayed there. 

“Nothing to apologize for, master dwarf.” He heard himself breathe out. 

“Everything okay, Bilbo ?” 

That was the wizard’s voice. It made Bilbo lift his head and look around, but before he could find Gandalf, his eyes found the brown ones of the dwarf who was still holding his shoulders. The indecipherable expression he found there made him forget to breathe for a couple of seconds. The dwarf seemed to be searching for something on his face, he looked somehow intrigued, and confused. 

It made Bilbo’s heart beat painfully in a couple of too fast, scared beats, which had the advantage of giving him the strength to step away from the dwarf, who let him go easily. 

“Yes, Gandalf.” To prove his point, Bilbo lifted his head to finally meet the man’s gaze, and forced a smile. 

He then looked around and noticed that all the dwarves were either greeting each others or staring at him. 

“So that’s what ye call a hobbit, Gandalf ? He looks small. Is he even of age ?”

“He seems fragile. And too thin ! Look at him Gloin ! Dwalin’s axe is probably heavier than this poor little thing !”

“I don’t see any weapons or pieces of armor in this house, is he even able to fight ?”

Bilbo’s eyes found his feet again. These words confused him, but what he felt most strongly was the need to apologize. 

Gandalf chose this moment to suggest in a disapproving voice : “How about we all head to the nice dinner our host has cooked for us, instead of being such poor guests ?” 

Some of the dwarves grumbled apologies, while the rest murmured about letting the hobbit come or not.

Bilbo, confused, and not sure yet if he had decided to care or not, wondered what diner was Gandalf talking about, exactly, since he hadn’t cooked anything yet, and why they were even considering him to be potentially useful. They must really not know who he is, then.

Maybe he should tell them, out of honesty.

But something deep inside of him tugged. It wanted to see. It wanted to test what would happen if he was taken in the company’s ranks. Were adventures similar to what they were written out to be in Bilbo’s books ? Or were they as toxic and dangerous as Bungo had told him ?

Bilbo was already a freak and a total disappointment. He had nothing left to lose, not even his sanity.

That made him want to laugh. 

“-ilbo ? Are you okay my dear ?”

Bilbo turned his head to Gandalf, who was watching him from the doorway to the dining room. Behind him, the dwarves were buzzing around, amassing food and ale on the table and loudly talking to each other. They seemed happy. Laugher suddenly erupted around the table. It was painful to watch, somehow.

“Yes, Gandalf, I’m fine.”

“Hm.” Still, the soul piercing eyes did not wander off him. 

Despite how slow Bilbo’s brain usually was, he could sense that the wizard intended to dig until he discovered all of Bilbo’s secrets. So, in a desperate attempt to escape from the fire, he jumped into the frying pan. 

“I am going to go care for my unexpected guests now, if you don’t mind.” He stated, appearing braver than he felt. He rode the wave of courage that gave him, and darted to the kitchen. 

There, he busied himself by starting to cook something, under the curious eyes of a big red headed dwarf.

“What are you making, mister hobbit ?” 

Bilbo took a moment to stop and stare at the wet slice of bread starting to toast in the pan. 

“French toast.” he mumbled, hoping he would not have to repeat himself. 

“Sounds delicious ! may I try some ?”

“When it is done, yes.”

“Could you tell me the recipe ?”

This was such a strange conversation to have. The dwarf was being strangely polite, and asking about something as mundane as a recipe. His Ma hadn’t told him that sort of things about dwarves.

What Bilbo knew about dwarves, was that they were awful at table manners, and manners in general really, and they had a stupid love for gold and gemstones. 

He felt a wave of calm take over him after he reminded himself of that. 

All this chaos since the arrival of the first dwarf was normal, for dwarves. The only truly strange thing what that dwarves would actually find their way there in search of a hobbit willing to go on an adventure. 

His father would hit him until he was bloody and motionless if he witnessed even a small amount of what was happening in his home, but Bilbo barely cared in this moment. All he cared about was that for once, he was not bored.

Something was actually happening his his life. Something new. Something to discover and explore. 

After Bilbo told the redhead the recipe and gave him the french toasts, the dwarf went back to the dining room, instantly cheered by the company as he passed the door.

Bilbo stood alone in the kitchen, wondering whether he should follow, but laugher erupted once more at the table and he decided against it. 

He sat at the kitchen table, opening the nearest recipe book and reading it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He tried to block out the cacophony coming from the next room and imagine himself alone in his smial, but did not succeed, so he went to his living room. Still, the noise was there, as loud as before. Bilbo sighed and focused on the soup recipe. He would simply have to deal with it then. 

He was reading his seventh recipe when one of the youngest looking dwarves, the one that wasn’t one of the two brothers, approached him sheepishly. Bilbo lifted his head, hoping the dwarves were not angry at him for being such a poor host. He thought he was doing the right thing by giving them space and privacy instead of sitting awkwardly among them all evening.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt, but, what should I do with my plate ?”

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, his left hand already moving to point the kitchen, when the brown haired one of the two brothers (Fili, was that it ?), appeared in the doorway.

Out of nowhere, the blond one stepped in and held out his hand, a -quite frightening, if you asked Bilbo- playful smirk on his lips. “Here you go Ori, give it to me.”

Ori did not think twice before giving his plate over to the blond (Kili ?), who instantly threw it to his brother, who in turn wasted no time throwing it in the kitchen.

For half a second, Bilbo cringed, fully expecting to hear his mother’s dish break.

When it didn’t, he released his breath, only to hold it again a second later when he realised everyone was now throwing his mother’s crockery around his smial. 

An irrational fear gripped him then. It felt like if one of those plate broke, he would be failing his mother. It felt like she was dying and he was helpless all over again. He ran to the dining room as the dwarves started hitting the silverware in rhythm and singing. His breathing quickened, and he stuttered out the first thing that came to his mind. 

“Don’t, don’t do that, you’ll blunt the knives..”

He thought no one heard him, but the same brown eyes from earlier, this time clouded with alcohol and laughing, locked on him. 

“Oooh… Do you hear that, lads ? He says we’ll blunt the knives !”

That was, apparently, all they needed to break into song. During two long, horrifying minutes, Bilbo tried to both control his anxiety attack and the dwarves threatening one of the few things that were left of his mother. 

But even in the midst of his panic, he could not help but think that if anything broke, it would be on him for having put that specific crockery in the most accessible cupboard. He would have failed his mother once again. What a disappointment he was. 

When the song turned into laugher, he pushed his way through the dwarves, not caring about their anger for once. He discovered piles of clean dishes, and gaped. 

However he did not have the time to entirely process the sight in front of him, because three loud knocks at the door silenced the whole smial. For a second, it was as if no one even dared to breathe.

“He is here.” Announced Gandalf in a deep, serious voice.

All the joy and merriness of the dwarves bled from their face, to be replaced by grave, serious looks. 

Remembering his _ though quite rusty, still existent _ manners, Bilbo strode to the door and opened it wide, trying to pretend he wasn’t scared. 

In front of him stood the most good looking dwarf he had seen so far. This one looked to be middle aged. He had long black hair, a rather short beard compared to the others, and clothes that seemed to be of slightly better quality. But was truly caught Bilbo’s attention were the newcomer’s eyes. There were a deep, pale blue that seemed to hold a strange heat inside.

Those eyes barely brushed over Bilbo’s, however. 

“Ah, Gandalf. You should have given me better indications. If it weren’t for that sign on the door, I would still be wandering around these hills. I lost my way. Twice.”

The dwarf’s voice was a deep rumble that seemed to demand everyone’s attention. And indeed, everyone was focused on the dwarf’s every word. Bilbo had not heard such silence since the first knock on his door an hour or so earlier. 

He remembered well the warm greetings the other dwarves gave each others and so he thought about stepping back to give them the space and privacy to do just that with the new, strangely majestic dwarf. However, just as he was lifting his foot to do that, the eyes of the dwarf froze him in place.

“So, this is the hobbit.” He said as he approached Bilbo and started walking around him slowly, piercing him with an assessing stare. Instantly, Bilbo’s eyes dropped to his shoes, but he could still feel the pressure of the scrutinizing attention that was on him. “Tell me, what’s your weapon of choice ?” The tone was harsh, and Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but words refused to come out. He felt like the smallest mouse under this dwarf’s gaze. “Come on, tell me : axe or sword ?”

Bilbo felt his skin crawl with anxiety. After a few seconds of silence, he managed to shake his head, his neck and ears burning with shame. The mysterious dwarf sneered. “Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”

Everyone laughed but Gandalf, who chose to remain silent. Not that Bilbo especially noticed or felt anything about that. Aventures and their heroes hated him just as much as the rest of the world, it seemed. Everyone went to the dining room, leaving Bilbo standing there, staring after them. Gandalf stayed too, just long enough to tell him in a hushed voice : 

“This is Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of this company. Please do not judge him on first impressions. He has a heart of gold, and noble intentions.”

When Gandalf left, the hobbit sighed, trying to will the sting of the leader’s words away. They should not sting, he was way better off looking like a grocer than looking like a burglar. This was not a insult for him, but a compliment, and if being a burglar was a good thing among dwarves, then Bilbo did not want anything to do with dwarves at all anyway. 

It was good that their leader had decided that he would not do. Because Bilbo was not suited for this adventure. Or any other, really. 

This was a relief ! Bilbo would be free of any dwarves or troubling wizards by tomorrow, and everything would return to normal. And Bilbo was very, very happy about that.

So why did his throat feel so tight it hurt to swallow ? 

As the dwarves talked, Bilbo felt eyes on him, and searched the group, trying to find out who it was. When he did, a shiver of anxiety ran through his spine. A dwarf with a rather strange hat was staring at him, quite intensely, as if he was trying to figure out a particularly tricky problem. It took a ridiculous amount of time for the hobbit to realise that it was the same dwarf that had brought him to his feet earlier. 

During that time, he had held the gaze of the dwarf, but as soon as realisation dawned on him, he avoided looking at the dining room all together, feeling the heat of shame burning his neck and ears once more.

That is, of course, the moment Gandalf chose to call for him to bring a candle. He brought the candle, and suddenly, for the first time of the evening, things started to make sense, in a very, very insane way. 

A contract was handed to him, and he started reading it. A mountain ? Claimed by a dragon ? And he, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, would have to enter it ? Without waking the beast, unless he be… What ?

“Think furnace with wings. Flash of light, searing pain, then poof ! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash !”

Dead. Unless he be utterly, and completely dead. No one would even have to take care of a body. He would finally stop being a burden. 

Bilbo felt lightheaded. This was all so insane, but he had to hang on, fainting now would mean missing the greatest opportunity of his life. 

Accepting this adventure did not mean giving up his suicidal plans, it meant spicing them up. 

All the attention was on him now, just as before in the hall. All the attention except Thorin’s, but Bilbo really did not care about that. All he cared about was that this was it : the perfect way to die. 

“Where do I sign ?” He heard himself say. His voice was a little shaky, but the determination in it surely would be unmistakable for what it was. 

Everyone went bug-eyed, and Thorin turned to him. Bilbo held his gaze and lifted his chin, trying to appear sure of himself. Because he was. He knew that was the way he wanted to die : helping people and having a real adventure. 

“Very well, then.” Declared Thorin in a soft, low voice. Maybe Bilbo was imagining it, but he thought he heard a hint of respect in the leader’s tone. “Balin, make him sign.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ? Any impressions ? Anything you especially liked ? 
> 
> What do you think could/will happen ? It's really interesting for me to read your ideas, they inspire me a lot !
> 
> Also, i have to remind you all that this is a bagginshield SLOWBURN so do not expect them to like, fall in love right away. They're going to go through a lot of trouble (and developping friendship) before that. Because friendship is cool. I love friendship. This story does NOT focus on romance, sorry pals, it's just not my favorite thing ^^'
> 
> Please do not forget to leave kudos and COMMENTS, and to bookmark my story as well, it means the world to me. Truly. Like, not a joke pals, it means the whole freaking world and some more. You don't know how much i love the feedback, it's actually what kept me going all those months :D <3
> 
> I love you all ! Please be safe and don't go outside if you can ! You could save lives ! Also wash your hands. For the exact same reason. THAT'S ALL BYE

**Author's Note:**

> What did you think ? Was the writing okay ? Was the chapter too long ? I really wanted to stop it at Dwalin entering Bilbo's smial but I think it's still so very long and I hope I did not lose anyone midway ^^'
> 
> It's currently 5 am and before I started writing tonight I only had 9/22 pages of this chapter written. Some call this insanity, I call this spontaneous productivity :D
> 
> On this note, please don't forget the comment kudos and bookmark necessary to my motivation (i write for you guys, but if no one's reading, i have no will to keep going, so show you're enjoying it !), and see you in hum.. either a few days or a couple weeks ^^


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